


Guilt & Glorfindel

by CharlemagneGryffis



Series: Souls Have Names [5]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, soulbonds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 12:39:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4101256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlemagneGryffis/pseuds/CharlemagneGryffis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glorfindel has been sent by Her Majesty, Belladonna of the Line of Durin, Queen of the Dwarves and the Mountain-City of Erebor to pick up her recently orphaned nephew, Frodo Baggins.<br/>..<br/>Things do NOT go as planned, and Glorfindel is faced with an extremely ethically-icky mess of a soulbond. Also, hobbit-holes are more complicated than Pan's Labyrinth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilt & Glorfindel

Glorfindel walked through the Shire, feeling a sense of peace. Her Highness, Queen Belladonna of Erebor, had asked a favour of him, one he was glad to do. Drogo and Primula Baggins, Bella’s cousins, had drowned in a boating accident, leaving their only son Frodo in the custody of Bella. Unfortunately, he was on the other side of Arda – but Glorfindel owed her.

Behind him, Elladan and Elrohir were chatting their heads off in Sindarin to the half-dozen contingent of Woodland Realm Guards, who only knew how to speak Quenya. They were only three centuries older than Prince Legolas, therefore being quite young for Guardsmen. Glorfindel had taken them under his wing for that very reason. He had led them over the Misty Mountains before stopping in Rivendell, which had the twins joining them in their journey. Of course, they weren’t the only ones who had come – the dwarven contingent, made up of a dozen trusted Longbeards. Their pride had gotten the better of them though, so they had made their way into the Shire first, not taking heed the Prancing Pony-owner’s advice to ask a hobbit to guide them.

Glorfindel had taken such advice, and was at present walking a little behind the small woman named Lily Maven nee Proudfoot. She was the soul-mate of the blacksmith from Bree and had moved there – it had been pure chance their paths crossed. She was going to visit her mother, and had agreed to lead him to Bag-End, where Lobelia and Otho Sackville-Baggins had been taking care of young Frodo.

As they came up the road, Lily bid them good-day before walking off down the path, quickly diverting onto a dirt-track that not even Glorfindel, with his elvish sight, had spotted until she had gone onto it.

Going up to the door, a frown played upon his brow as he heard shouting from inside. “- _do that again, do you hear me Frodo Baggins? I’ll have Otho box your ears if you do!_ ”

Glorfindel’s expression became dark for a single second before it smoothed out. Belladonna had told of Hobbit Tradition, of their morals and values – and she had also given him warnings. After her adventure, she had come back to claim all her possessions to take to Erebor, only to find it all being auctioned off. Only her signature on her dwarven contract gave her leave to take everything back. Lobelia had called her many derogatory things on seeing her dwarven guard and odd choice of clothing, in public, which was apparently important. In Glorfindel’s mind, he saw Hobbit Culture to be a non-stop game of politics. Her people knew how it worked back to front from the time they were walking, and Lobelia’s words had been worse than a slap in the face – something that had never happened before outside of disownment.

Knocking on the horrid yellow, peeling door that was revealed to be a lovely green underneath, they didn’t have to wait very before it opened to reveal a smiling hobbit-lady.

“Hello?” She said on automatic before actually seeing them and letting out a slight scream, slamming the door. Glorfindel took the handle and opened it, crouching as he came inside – Mithrandir hadn’t been lying about the home being chest height including vaulted ceilings. The door stayed open as his companions waited outside.

“Mrs Sackville-Baggins, I am Glorfindel, and Her Highness, Belladonna of the Line of Durin, Queen of the Dwarves and the Mountain City of Erebor, has sent me to retrieve her young cousin, Frodo Baggins. If you could send for him, and have his belongings packed, it would be appreciated.”

The woman stared, before promptly fainting.

* * *

Frodo looked at the elf from around the side of the rounded Hobbit arch. He had heard stories of the elves before, and found them to be…lacking. This man had been sent by Cousin Bella though, so he had to be more than he seemed. She was a Queen now – she’d sent letters. Elves did not work for gold, he knew, so they must not be lying.

His attention though, was drawn to the window, the fauntling climbing up onto the creaky desk to see through it. _Dwarves_ , his mind gave him a word, as he stared upon the heavily armed men not much taller than a fully grown Hobbit. They weren’t like men and elves, the Big Folk – the dwarves were perfect size if a Hobbit lass wanted someone strong to protect her. He still scarcely believed the rumour of Lily Proudfoot marrying a human and being their soulmate at that! He was over double her height!

The dwarves joined the elves, sharing an angry few comments, but other than that they got on. But as they and more elves started to come into Bag-End, Frodo became scared. Quieter than elven hearing could pick up, he ran through the home with lightning-quick feet.

Now, you may have heard many tales of which Hobbits are defenceless beings, with no compulsion to pick up anything more dangerous than a kitchen knife – but that is not true, just as stories of their hobbit-holes being dark, dank places are not. For one, hobbit-homes were works of art. Hobbits are complex creatures, and appreciate an even more complex home. Only a dwarf could come close to competing with the twisting architecture, being more understanding of it than man, elf or wizard were.

If an intruder not familiar with their home’s layout came in, they would quickly be befuddled. Hobbit-homes had no rhyme or reason, but at the same time stayed on one entire floor – Hobbit’s did not believe in stairs inside homes, except when they led to secret cellars and to the Tunnels. Which was another hobbit-secret. During the Fell Winter, the Tunnels had not existed, but very quickly after that five-year period, they did. The Tunnels connected each and every Hobbit building – even sheds – across the entire Shire. There was no building without a tunnel.

When Belladonna’s father, Bungo, built Bag-End for Belladonna the first, he impressed many hobbits and fauntlings with his grand architecture. The fact that he built it all with his own hands was even more impressive. The house-warming party lasted six days, and was large enough to attract twelve out of the fifteen major hobbit families. Frodo, having grown up around Bella and Bag-End, knew it _very_ well.

As such, it took an entire week before they even saw the elusive Frodo Baggins.

* * *

“By Illuvator! Where is he?” Glorfindel was seriously considering tearing out his hair. None of his lives had prepared him for the labyrinth that was a hobbit’s home, or the adventure that was trying to find someone in it who knew said hobbit home better than the back of their hands.

“Maybe he’s not here.” One of his guards spoke weakly. Glorfindel glanced at the elf, noting how he swayed slightly, only the elleth guard beside him with their arm around his waist holding him up. They were all dead on their feet, sleep having been the farthest thing from their mind as they tried to find the young ‘fauntling’.

“We must keep searching, no matter how long it takes. Her Majesty would never forgive us, and we would never forgive ourselves.” Glorfindel stated lowly, shutting his eyes. He felt like falling asleep then and there when he heard it.

“Sorry.”

The whisper was barely audible, but his head whipped up. He sucked in a breath.

“Young Frodo Baggins?”

The boy stepped out from behind a curved door, barely two feet tall. He looked to the floor guiltily.

“I’m sorry for making you go without sleeping for so young Mister Elf.”

Glorfindel swallowed before smiling. “We are just glad you have finally revealed yourself, Young Master Baggins. I am Glorfindel, head of the elven contingent.” He glanced at the pile of sleeping dwarves by the fireplace, and his guards, who were all on the floor now, trying to conserve energy. “Sleep, my friends.” They nodded before dropping off. Glorfindel looked back to the fauntling, who was barely twelve summers young. He held out a hand.

“Are you as tired as we, Frodo? I would sleep more peacefully if I know you will not be a-wandering while we are slumbering.”

Frodo rubbed his eyes. “It’s a bit early, but I’m a bit tired from running all the time.” He reached over and took his hand – and then he felt a pressure. A gasp escaped him as golden light started to emanate from their joined hands. Frodo gasped, before he turned his wrist, revealing a clump of flower tattoos, four open, one closed, and the last, a beautiful yellow flower the colour of Silven-elf hair, opening slowly.

Then he felt a sensation on his back, making Glorfindel suck in a breath. “No, you are but a child…” he spoke, but did not let go of the child’s hand as Frodo clung to it. Despairing, he watched as the golden light started to form dusty bands, wrapping around their hands and wrists like the ribbon-cords from the ceremonies of men. The flower on Frodo’s wrist opened fully, revealing his old, true name – the name of his past life, of who he was before he became Glorfindel.

“Where is your flower?” Frodo whispered as the golden light pressed against their skin, turning the skin a few shades darker where it touched, before disappearing. Glorfindel looked back at the elves and dwarves around them before he went over to a clear space of wall, slipping down against it. _How can this be?_

His past life was long gone, he knew, but he could still remember his Surien. Beautiful beyond compare, she had held his name on her back, and hers on his. Upon his reincarnation, that name was gone, just like she – she who died bringing their child, their Tauriel. She could never know, of course. That was part of the deal – that only those with no personal connection to him would know he was once more in the land of Arda, alive and living his second life.

“Glorfindel?” Fingers were trying to wiggle in under the fabric of his sleeve, but he stalled the hand.

“Child, I do not have a flower. Mithrandir identified the writing upon my back as the Green Tongue – a language unknown even to he. I knew my soulmate was that of a hobbit, but child, you are that – a child. You are too young to be my soulmate at this moment in time. Please forgive me, but I will ask you to not come close to me, in fear of any repercussions that come with our age-gap.”

Frodo looked up at him, eyes blue and stubborn as he showed Glorfindel the other flowers on his arm. “I’ve got a platonic soulbond with everyone but you. Sam and Pippin and Merry and all my friends, and Gandalf’s like my grandpa-” Glorfindel sent him an alarmed look at the mention of Mithrandir, but the boy continued on, “-and I’ve still got one more person to bond with as a mentor. I don’t care that you’re older than me. I understand that I’m not allowed to do any hanky-panky with you until I’m at least thirty-” Glorfindel forced his shudder away at the prospect of being intimate, his entire being rebelling at the thought “-but I want to get to know you. Please. Be my friend until I’m thirty, and then we can have this conversation again.”

Glorfindel shut his eyes, trying to think of a way to reject – he cringed – this small one without hurting him. Already, his words were burning at the very thought.

“Friends.” Frodo repeated, and Glorfindel let out an elven curse, rubbing the bridge of his nose before opening his eyes once more to look down at his friend, his Frodo.

“Nothing more than friends. You must swear to me Frodo, that until your thirtieth birthday we are nothing more than friends.” Glorfindel insisted, guilt filling his every pore. But then Frodo nodded and shook his hand.

“Deal.”

He just hoped he had not just barred himself from entering Valinor ever again.


End file.
